


The Sandwich Incident

by Lywinis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, Leo and Jemma do everything together, Leo is far more clever than Grant makes him out to be, M/M, Multi, Post-FZZT, Some squishy comfort from Grant, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1366378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And what is this?” Fitz asked as Ward set the plate in front of him.</p>
<p>“What does it look like?” Ward asked, turning the chair around and straddling it, resting his arms on the back and giving Fitz a look that said he was asking another stupid question. Fitz took umbrage to this, if only because he knew there were no stupid questions as a scientist.</p>
<p>“It looks like a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich,” he said, sniffing at it. And maybe it was. Maybe it was also an elaborate trap by Ward for ‘training’, where the sandwich was taken away as a form of deprivation torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sandwich Incident

“And what is this?” Fitz asked as Ward set the plate in front of him.

“What does it look like?” Ward asked, turning the chair around and straddling it, resting his arms on the back and giving Fitz a look that said he was asking another stupid question. Fitz took umbrage to this, if only because he knew there were no stupid questions as a scientist.

“It _looks_ like a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich,” he said, sniffing at it. And maybe it was. Maybe it was also an elaborate trap by Ward for ‘training’, where the sandwich was taken away as a form of deprivation torture. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Ward said, pillowing his chin on his forearms, his expression unreadable. “An apology.”

“You got Jemma to make me a sandwich, so that you could apologize.” Fitz looked at him, and he was sure that he’d never felt dumber as a rocket scientist, because he’d never been able to figure out people, Agent Grant Ward least of all.

“No, I got Jemma to make _me_ a sandwich. I made that one.” Ward watched him, and Fitz had the uncomfortable notion that he was being watched so that he ingested it for reasons other than personal nourishment. The fact that Jemma had made Ward a sandwich wasn’t lost on him, either.

“Jemma made you a sandwich?” he asked, his focus slipping on the phone he was taking apart and improving. And he knew the rule for tinkering at the table, but Jemma had been in the lab and he couldn’t concentrate around her since…

Focus. He took a deep breath.

“Yes,” Ward said. “She made me one to show me how it was done, so I could make you one as an apology. I can handle a sandwich, but she insisted.”

“I…” Fitz paused, Ward’s eyes glittering at him from across the table. “Thank you, Ward. I’ll eat here in a minute. I just have to recalibrate the LCD to pick up fingerprints so I can add a biometric scanner later if we need it.”

Ward’s eyes glazed over, and Fitz chattered away at him, aware that the sandwich sat there, mocking him.

He didn’t miss Ward watching him, that same unreadable expression on his face. He couldn’t ignore food, however, and so he took a bite, closing his eyes briefly as he chewed.

His next thought was that the sandwich was quite good, as begrudging as it might be.

* * *

Jemma was reading in the common room, and while that wasn’t unusual, it was unusual for Ward to set his beer on a coaster and join her. He glanced over, watching her curls fall into her face as her brow furrowed while she read, trying to make sense of the article.

“What are you reading?” he asked, the rumble of his voice echoing the rumble of the jets outside as Melinda guided them to their next objective.

She startled, blinking at him as her concentration was broken.

“Ward! Oh. I was reading about the effects of electrostatic shock on the cells of the human body, and the long term trauma that may have happened.” She smiled at him, and his heart gave a painful thump. This was why he didn’t work with a team. He was soft now, his nerves exposed like a broken tooth. He stood, stretching, and she turned back to her reading, perched on the edge of the couch, only to gasp as he pulled her close, settling himself behind her and wrapping large, warm arms around her.

“That’s not light bedtime reading,” he said, his chin tucked over her shoulder. “Sounds like something you’re going to need a buddy for.”

He could feel her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage, and he held her loosely, his arms around her middle, not caging her in but keeping her safe.

“I…it’s something I needed to do.” She lifted her chin, her stubborn streak carrying through. He smiled, pulling her back against his warm chest. “I have to be better for next time.”

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” She stiffened, and he took the tablet from her and laid it on the table, leaning back with her pillowed against him. “That wasn’t your fault, or anyone else’s, you know that. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Not yours, or Fitz’s, or even Coulson’s.”

“I know,” she whispered. He nosed into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. Something about her, shivering and leaning back into him as an anchor, made him protective. If Skye was his little sister, the obnoxious little sister that he wished his parents had thought about before, then what was Jemma?

She was Jemma, he decided, kissing her temple gently as she closed her eyes and shook. He held her, letting the tears make gentle tracks down her face while he hummed something rusty, something that poured like whiskey from his throat. She nosed into his neck and he rubbed her back until the sniffling stopped.

“Thank you, Grant,” she said, her voice soft.

“Anytime, Jem,” he said, his voice just as soft.

Fitz leaned in the doorway between the stairs to the lab and the common room, his eyes locked on them and his own racing heart silent in his chest.

* * *

“So, you and Ward?” he asked, blunt as he screwed another filter in the Night Night Gun’s gas chamber. He hadn’t developed enough skill with toxins to get the sleeping gas just right, but he sure as hell could pretend he was doing something useful while Jemma developed a proper toxin.

“Me and Ward what?” she asked, blinking at him from behind her safety glasses. “What about him?”

“You’re…you know,” he said, making a helpless and frustrated gesture. “You’re having quite the exothermic reaction. Very explosive.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked. “What, exactly, do you mean by that, Leopold Fitzhugh?”

“You and the big strong secret agent,” he spat, bitter as he glared down at the Night Night Gun. “Getting along like houses, you are.”

“Now you listen here,” she said, slamming down her petri dish and stomping over to where he was hunched over his schematics. “What business is it of yours what I do on my downtime, or who I do it with? I thought we were supposed to be getting along with everyone, working as a team.”

“Guess some of us qualify more as a team than others,” he muttered.

She punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to send his rolling chair jerking away from his workstation. He made a distressed noise and made to scoot back, but she moved in front of him, tiny fists perched on her hips.

“You listen here,” she said, getting into his face. She smelled like honey and the brown sugar she liked in her porridge in the morning, and Fitz swallowed, resisting the urge to pull back farther. “Grant Ward is my friend. Just because you have some sort of Neanderthal complex where your tiny forebrain can’t comprehend that, you don’t get to dictate who I spend my time with!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and that took the wind out of her sails, the fire dying in her eyes as she looked him over. “I am, Jemma. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She looked unsure. “Well, good.”

“Are we…still friends?” he asked. She blinked at him.

“Of course we are, Leo. I never said we weren’t.” She cocked her head. “What is _with_ you?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I guess I’m still wound up from the mission. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sure?” she asked, her gaze on him. He resisted the urge to squirm.

“I’m sure, Jemma,” he said. “Is that toxin done synthesizing?”

“Oh!” She turned back to her table, and Fitz settled back to where he’d been, one eye on his diagrams and the other on Jemma’s hair as it curled softly against the nape of her neck.

* * *

“And you’re sure about this,” Ward said as he and Fitz circled each other on the mats in the hangar. He watched as Fitz looked him up and down. He knew, for someone like Fitz, that his size was intimidating; he’d never sparred before, and hadn’t even sat in on a hand to hand seminar during basic. He was a squint, and squints had different rules from the grunts.

Ward flexed his shoulders, and he watched Fitz pale a bit.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Fitz said, and Ward moved in.

“You’re going to want to not be grappled,” he explained.

“I’m aware, Ward. Just…come at me.” Fitz looked exasperated, bone thin and knobbly in his workout sweats. He even had a blue sweatband on his forehead, and Ward wondered if that was a gift from Jemma. He shook the thought off, focusing on the young man in front of him.

“Okay,” Ward said, and lunged. Fitz sucked in a breath, but didn’t shout, and that was a point for him. Ward got hold of his shirt, about a size too large for the kid, and wrapped him in a bear hug. He picked Fitz up, light and fluttering like a bird, like Jemma, and he could smell chewed mint. He remembered Fitz chewing the leaves to deal with his airsickness, and it was so Fitz that he almost chuckled.

“Now what?” he asked, and Fitz kicked his feet in frustration. “You got a guy who has you in a grapple, he’s got your arms pinned. What do you do?”

“I thought you were going to tell me?” Fitz grated. Ward, just to be an asshole, gave him a bit of a squeeze. Fitz made a strangled noise, kicking his feet so hard his converse flopped. “Ward!”

“Headbutt me.” Ward said, easy as he held Fitz aloft. It was easy enough to keep the kid airborne. He was light, even with the prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches. “Go on, pulp my nose.”

“I’m not going to headbutt you, Ward,” Fitz said. Ward squeezed him a little tighter, let him feel the crushing pressure on his ribcage, and then released him. “You can hug me all you want, but it’s not going to happen.”

“The next time I squeeze, I’m going to crush your ribs,” Ward warned. “Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better do it quick.”

He grinned up at Fitz, his usual impassiveness taken over by his competitive nature. He shifted, planting his stance wide, and Fitz grunted as he began to squeeze.

“Ward!” Fitz gasped, letting go of the last of his air. Ward squeezed him harder, and he hissed.

“Figure out a way to get out of it, and I’ll let you go.” Ward’s voice was impassive, his arms locked around Fitz’s back. “You’re going to run out of air soon.”

Then Fitz changed the rules on him, and Agent Grant Ward was not prepared. The little skinny scientist planted a spine melting kiss on him, smashing their lips together. It was artless at first, but then Ward lowered him to the floor and Fitz pressed closer to him. The larger agent could feel his heart thrumming like a bird’s beneath his palm, and he cupped the back of Fitz’s neck and kissed him harder.

He tasted like crushed mint and oatmeal, and Ward drank him in, his hand curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Fitz made a noise, and Ward gave a growl in response, his eyes sliding closed.

And then Fitz stepped away, pushing Ward’s chest, and Ward didn’t notice the ankle hooked between his own. He landed hard on his back on the mat, the air knocked from his lungs. He stared up in a daze at Fitz, who was grinning at him like he’d won the lottery.

“Well, that was easy,” he said, and trotted off the mat back upstairs.

Ward let his head hit the mat with a thump, licking his lips in a stupor.

* * *

“So you kissed him,” Jemma said, stirring the brown sugar into her oatmeal. “And then what happened?”

“Well, I-I tripped him and then pinned him to the mat,” Fitz said, twirling his spoon in his tea. “I distracted him and then I…tripped him.”

“You kissed him, Fitz. D’you really think that’ll work in the field?” she asked. That was what he loved about Jemma; she sounded interested, as though this were a clinical trial. “Would it work on everyone?”

“See, that, I don’t know. Have you seen Ward today?” he asked, looking around. Skye was trudging toward the coffee machine, May was likely already dosed up on tai chi and anger, flying the plane, and Agent Coulson…who knew.

“Not this morning, but he’s usually up by five and is down in the hangar training. He’s finishing up by the time I open up the lab,” she said. “You want to see if he’ll be up for field testing your hypothesis?”

“I don’t think it’ll work a second time,” Fitz said, his voice thoughtful. “It was kind of a sneak attack.”

“Hm,” she said, tapping her chin. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

She finished her oatmeal, an impish smile on her face, then stood and rinsed out her bowl, stacking it in the dishwasher. He sipped his tea, going back to his article.

She trailed her fingers along his shoulder as she went back down to the lab, and he swallowed the rest of his tea and rose to rinse his mug and follow her.

* * *

Mission completed.

Jemma smiled and held up the beer that Ward handed her. He and Fitz seemed to have gotten over the sparring session, and that was good. She wanted everyone to be friends, and usually all it took was a quiet reminder that they were in this together. Skye was in the corner tapping on her phone, but she put it down and came over to join her, tapping her can against Jemma’s. Jemma took a sip of it and grimaced.

“Beer not your thing?” Skye asked. Jemma shook her head. Beer was most definitely not her thing. Still, she sipped at it and participated because it was good for group morale. “Seems like a waste of the cheap off-brand beer to let you squint your way through it.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” she said, settling in to watch Fitz and Ward play Battleship. They were arguing good-naturedly over what was considered tactics and what was considered cheating.

“Those two seem to be getting along better,” Skye commented, fiddling with her phone. “That have something to do with that sparring match Fitz insisted on?”

“Possibly,” Jemma said, aware that she was treading deeper water. Between her and Leo, secrets stayed that – just secrets. With Skye, however… “I don’t know much about it.”

“He has a remarkable way to break a grapple,” Skye said, her thumb scrolling down her screen and her voice almost casually interested. “Did you see the security footage?”

“I don’t hack computers for a living, Skye,” Jemma said, sipping at her beer. “I’m biotech, remember?”

“That’s why I’m going to show you.” She held the phone out, and against her better judgment, Jemma took it. The video played out just as Leo said it had, his face as Ward squeezed him straining and upset. Jemma smiled as realization dawned and he kissed Ward. Ward, for his part was smug and self-confident until the kiss. That was enough to make her smile wider, and she looked up to see Skye watching her.

“Very creative,” she murmured.

“No kidding. You think they’ll be an item?” She glanced over her shoulder as Ward sank Leo’s ship. Leo groaned and rubbed his face.

“I don’t think so,” Jemma said. Skye shrugged.

“At least I have video proof if I ever need blackmail.” Skye yawned and rose, tossing her empty. "You kids don't stay up too late, now."

"We won't."

Jemma looked back over to where the boys were setting up the board again. Her beer forgotten, she rose and settled into the chair next to Leo, her head settling onto his shoulder. His arm went around her waist like it had hundreds of times before, and Ward flicked an unreadable glance between them.

“So, how long have you two…?” he asked, taking a pull from his beer. It was his fourth, if she remembered right.

“How long have we what?” she asked, idly toying with one of the plastic pieces one the game board.

“You mean you’re not?” He gestured between the two of them, and she blinked at him.

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Ward,” she said.

“You’re not dating?” he blurted.

She looked at Leo, and he looked at her, and they started to laugh.

“Not exactly,” Leo said, rubbing his neck and flushing. “Jemma is…”

“We’re friends,” she said, squeezing his middle. “If he was interested, he’d have asked by now, I wager.”

“I would?” he asked. She blinked at him, things starting to slow down.

“Yes, you would have. Wouldn’t you?” He wet his lips and looked down. “Leo…”

“So you’re dating and you’re aware of it?” Ward asked, eyes flicking between the two.

“Yes. No! I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Leo’s hand on hers made her open them.

“It doesn’t have to be this complicated, Jem. I mean, I kissed Agent Ward for science, and he seems fine.”

“Thanks,” Ward grumbled. She laughed a little, and he got up to get another beer.

“What do you want out of this?” he asked.

“I want to be with you through everything,” she said simply. “We do this together.”

“Just like we have been,” he said, his voice low. “And if that’s the case…”

She looked at Ward, bent over at the fridge. Leo looked with her, and her stomach did a curious flip.

“Then we should do everything together.”

“We’re always on the same wavelength.”

“That we are.”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Grant asked, settling onto the couch with a grunt. He stiffened when the two scientists melded themselves to his sides.

“We’ve decided,” Leo said, one arm going over Grant’s middle.

“Yes, we’ve decided to keep you,” Jemma said, kissing his cheek and then laying her head on his shoulder. “Whatever this is, we do it together.”

Grant’s shoulders eased. He set his beer down, one hand rubbing down Jemma’s back, to a noise of acceptance. His other hand curled around Leo’s waist, which set the scientist closer. Leo’s hand mirrored his, resting on his hip.

“Together, huh?” he asked, and Jemma could hear the slur in his voice.

“Yes. But you have to make an informed decision. So we’re going to wait until you’re sober to do that.”

Leo nodded from his place on the other side. “We have to have a solid control response before we continue further experimentation.

“Okay, then.” He rested his head back against the back of the couch. “Squints are weird.”

“And grunts are predictable,” Jemma hummed, closing her eyes as she and Leo curled around him on the couch. His head lolled until it rested on top of hers, and she smiled, linking fingers with Leo across Grant’s stomach.

“We should get you to bed,” she murmured.

“Five minutes more,” Grant said, soft.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, Melinda, this ship has kind of lit fire in my brain. This was started last year, and I stumbled upon it and finished it. Enjoy, Constant Readers.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated, as are Kudos!


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